


All I Want

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Series: Like This Forever [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some proposals don't go to plan, but things often work out in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want

**Author's Note:**

> All my gratitude to [ComeHitherAshes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeHitherAshes). If it wasn't for her, this fic would never have been written.
> 
> I apologise that this isn't traditional festive fare, nor particularly 'Christmassy', but everyone needs a bit of fluff at Christmas, right?
> 
> Merry Christmas (:

Athos was a man of few words, a trait often misconstrued as aloofness by those unacquainted with his taciturn nature. But to his friends, those he had allowed past his cold façade and defensive barriers, he communicated eloquently and expressively without any need for speech.

A language in which Porthos was now fluent.

But that Athos, the one who spoke to him in wordless glances and tiny tells, had fled, retreating behind the inscrutable mask he presented to the rest of the world.

As he looked up into those suddenly shuttered eyes, the floor growing uncomfortably hard against his knee, a knot of dread began to coil heavily in Porthos’s stomach. He silently cursed his spontaneity, the imprudent, impulsive question that may have just ruined everything.

“This is where you’re supposed to say ‘yes’.” Aiming for a lightness he didn’t feel.

Without meeting his eyes, Athos rose, crossed to the window, and turned away from Porthos to stare instead at the darkening sky. The distance Athos had put between them was a physical pain, cold fingers clutching at his heart.

Porthos pushed to his feet, the twinge in his knee a taunt. Athos remained still, his reflection a blur in the glass.

“Athos?” Tentative, reaching out with a word where he didn’t dare to do so physically, as if Athos were a skittish animal who might spook at his approach. Porthos wore his heart on his sleeve, always had, but Athos kept his concealed, allowing glimpses only to those he trusted. That Athos had shut him out now hurt, a deep ache in his soul.

Everything they had been through, everything they meant to one another…surely there was nothing wrong with wanting to make it official?

Just as the silence became unbearable, Athos turned around, but the small shred of hope to which Porthos was still clinging disintegrated when he caught his expression, blank but for the haunted eyes that alighted on Porthos only for a second before flitting away again.

“I’m sorry.” Flat, but with a thread of regret woven through the words. “I can’t.”

Porthos started to tell him to forget it, that it didn’t matter, but Athos was at the door and Porthos’s heart leapt into his throat.

“No! Athos, don’t—”

Too late. Athos was gone.

Anger sparked in the empty hollow of his chest, not directed at Athos but at himself, his stupid bloody thoughtless proposal. He couldn’t blame Athos for wanting to escape the memory of past betrayals and the grief that had sent him into a downward spiral, cursed himself for bringing it all back to the surface.

Somebody else might have seen Athos’s hasty retreat as a sign he feared it could all happen again, that he didn’t trust Porthos not to hurt him the way he had been hurt before. But Porthos knew him, knew the doubts plaguing him were entirely unselfish.

The clock slowly marked out thirty minutes while Porthos paced restlessly, unable to settle either his mind or his body, torn between wanting to give Athos some space and a desire to reassure him that nothing need change.

The first few spots of rain pattered against the window, a perfect reflection of the desolate state of Porthos’s soul. But it wasn’t his own wretchedness playing on his mind. The thought of Athos out there in the failing light and worsening rain, alone but for his misery, was unbearable. Grabbing his jacket, Porthos headed out into the wet night.

It didn’t take long. Porthos found him by instinct, his chest aching at the sight of the forlorn, rain-drenched figure huddled on the bench. That he hadn’t made straight for the nearest offie sparked a small flame of hope. He had watched Athos almost drink himself to death once, and had long ago vowed to do whatever he could to stop that ever happening again.

Athos didn’t acknowledge his presence as he sat down, but nor did he seem surprised that Porthos had found him. An alien silence descended around them, an uncomfortable shroud that Porthos was desperate to cast away. He was still trying to find the right words, the best way to apologise, when Athos spoke, his question directed at the shadows between the trees that surrounded them.

“Why?”

Athos could have been asking any number of things, but Porthos knew that, whatever the question, there was only one answer.

“Because I love you.”

Athos only looked more bleak, shaking his head as if to negate Porthos’s declaration.

“You should find someone worthy of that love with whom to spend the rest of your life.”

That Athos didn’t think himself deserving of Porthos’s love was almost laughable. Whatever his faults, he had a good heart, was one of the most generous, selfless men he knew. Turning toward him, Porthos brushed wet strands of hair away from his face, ducked his head to find his eyes, and waited until Athos met his gaze. “There’s only you.”

It looked like Athos was going to argue, eyes sliding away again as he prepared to throw up his defences. Before he had the chance, Porthos dragged him into a hug, locking him in place, right where he should be, where he belonged.

“Only you,” he repeated, voice gruff against Athos’s ear.

Athos drew in an unsteady breath, the rigidity slowly leaching from his body until he relaxed against Porthos’s chest, arms slipping around his waist, completing the embrace, accepting his place at Porthos’s side. They sat that way for a while, both unwilling to relinquish their hold on the other, until Athos began to shiver, cold raindrops dripping from his hair and trailing down his neck.

Porthos pulled him up, steered him home, received no objection as he stripped him of his wet clothes and bundled him up in a bathrobe. Athos looked stunned, wondering why Porthos was treating him with such tender care after he’d come so close to ruining everything. Porthos let his actions provide the answer, because it was simple. He loved him, and nothing could ever change that.

Dry now, Porthos gathered Athos into an embrace in front of the fire, warmth gradually returning to them both.

“I’m sorry.” Porthos’s apology was spoken in a whisper, but one that was weighted with emotion, with love. “I shouldn’ta sprung that on you. It wasn’t fair. Just forget about it, yeah? It doesn’t matter.”

Athos remained silent for a moment, overwhelmed and perhaps sharing the same relief Porthos felt at having not buggered everything up beyond repair. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, raw.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“No.” Porthos felt Athos tense but went on, forcing Athos to look at him with gentle fingers at his jaw. “You deserve _more_. But you’re stuck with me.”

The sound Athos made may have been a choked sob, but it was swallowed by Porthos’s kiss.

* * * *

He didn’t mention it again, the idea of marriage. It was all just pomp and circumstance anyway. They didn’t need to sign their names on a piece of paper or declare their devotion to each other in front of some official.

They already had everything they needed. More.

Christmas was a family affair. The only family that mattered. Constance insisted on preparing enough food to feed an army, which nobody was complaining about, and d’Artagnan had been busy decorating with an excess of festive enthusiasm. Every surface had been decked with some manner of shiny ornament or glittering tinsel, resulting in a vibrant aesthetic that was verging on gaudy.

Their collective spirit was high, however. Even Athos had shed his usual grumpy demeanour, although he adamantly refused to wear the black _Bah Humbug!_ Santa hat d’Artagnan had bought specially for him. His resolve lasted only as long as it took Porthos and Aramis to wrestle him into submission, allowing d’Artagnan to jam it into place.

He suffered it for the duration of dinner but threatened d’Artagnan’s life when he dared to point a camera in his direction. Everybody could see straight through his grumpy bastard act, but only Porthos noticed when he lapsed into an introspective silence, drawing him back out of it with a nudge to his knee under the table.

There were still times, as rare as they now were, when Porthos was unable to tell what was going on in Athos’s head. The warmth in those green eyes would instantly reassure him there was nothing to worry about, but Porthos knew there was _something_ playing on his mind.

Athos would share it with him when he was ready. Until then, Porthos would remain at his side, a steady presence.

After eating their fill, everyone decamped to the living room, collapsing into chairs while d’Artagnan tried to talk them all into a game of charades.

Everyone, that was, except Athos. Porthos glanced over his shoulder, found him lingering in the doorway, twisting the hat between his fingers in an uncharacteristic display of nerves.

“Hey.” His stomach knotting with renewed concern, Porthos waited until Athos met his gaze, then held out a hand to him. “Come ’ere.”

Athos took his hand, but before Porthos could tug him down onto the sofa, Athos dropped to one knee before him.

Porthos heard a sharp intake of breath from across the room. It was just as likely to have come from Aramis as Constance, but Porthos’s attention was fixed on the man knelt at his feet looking up at him with earnest eyes.

“Porthos, I’ve been a fool.” Athos’s voice was steady despite the nervous energy still radiating from him, growing more resolute as he continued. “I was letting my past dictate our present, our _future_ , and I was wrong. Because if there’s one thing of which I am certain, it’s that I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and show the rest of the world just how much you mean to me. You’re my rock, my one constant, you’ve stuck by me even when I’ve been at my most difficult, and I wouldn’t be half the man I am if not for you.”

He paused, and the silence that descended upon the room was heavy with anticipation. Porthos tried to smile encouragement, but was frozen, stunned. He managed a squeeze to Athos’s hand, and that was enough.

“Porthos du Vallon, will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?”

There was a moment, a fleeting heartbeat, during which Porthos hesitated just long enough to be sure this was what Athos truly wanted. But there was no hint of coercion or obligation in his eyes, only an absolute certainty that was clear to read.

This was Athos laying himself bare, offering everything while still afraid it wasn’t good enough. Porthos opened his mouth to reply but his voice was stuck behind the lump in his throat. That one simple word refused to form but his grin spoke for him as he pulled Athos up and into a kiss, leaving nobody in any doubt as to his answer.

Athos sagged against him, relief and joy evident in the abandon with which he returned the heated press of Porthos’s lips, heedless of their audience as the cheers of their friends echoed around the room.

Porthos finally found his voice, his “yes” spoken in a whisper against Athos’s smile.

The formalities mattered little, but here was Athos offering to share everything he had, everything he _was_. Porthos had no idea what he had done to deserve it, but his kiss promised Athos everything in return.

And it was everything they could ever want.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Mariah Carey's 'All I Want For Christmas Is You'.


End file.
